Lovely Ladies
by Anachronistic Anglophile
Summary: This is totally a Just-For-Fun ficlet series. What if all the conniving Maenads at Hogwarts and elsewhere decide to go after Severus? Of course, he tells himself that he wants none of it, but is that true? Set randomly during Snape's teaching career.
1. Bathsheda Babbling, Ancient Runes

_Disclaimer: I'm not Just Kidding when I say that I'm not J.K. (Rowling). _

**Lovely Ladies  
**

Femme Fatale Number One: Bathsheda Babbling, Ancient Runes

She'd stacked her books on his favorite chair in the teacher's lounge. He stood in front of her, glaring, but to no avail—the weedy Ancient Runes professor was immersed in the unabridged, un-translated _Hymns of the Bacchic Nymphs_ and took no notice of her twitching colleague.

He turned about, deciding that Fate was punishing him yet again, and spitefully quoted aloud the text she was reading. (He had read it before.)

"If Dionysus be there / do not prostrate yourselves before him / but instead seek his honor / by offering him his place at your side".

Of course, being brilliantly well read, he cited it in flawless Nymphish.

This did turn her glassy gray eyes from the page, and she squinted, drawing her glasses from their place on her brow.

"Severus," she said and suddenly giggled. This made her appear younger than her rising thirty-odd. "Hello."

He stared mutely at her, waiting for her to wave away her books and invite him to sit. However, she merely met his gaze, blushing.

_Oh, confound it. Irritating bint._

He left the younger woman, who stared wistfully after him. Perhaps it was better that he did not notice the faintest pink of tongue poking from the corner of her lips.

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .


	2. Irma Pince, Librarian

_Disclaimer: I'm not Just Kidding when I say that I'm not J.K. (Rowling). _

**Lovely Ladies  
**

Femme Fatale Number Two: Irma Pince

"Scribbles in the margins," she observed, a dangerous brew of triumph and horror in her eyes.

The haughty curve of his smirk, which rose as he turned away from the book-return counter, did nothing to help his case.

"They were present when I first retrieved it from the shelves, Irma."

"Oh, certainly," she sneered, flipping through the pages and putting her finger delicately on the spine. "I'm thoroughly convinced that a _student_ just happened to know that 'This is outdated; Theophilius of Aragon disproved this in _Études sur les Potions_ in 1483'. Besides, I happen to recall that _you_ took out _Études_ not three weeks past, Severus!"

"Have you ever considered, Irma, that the handwriting in question might not be my own?" Severus prompted coolly, not even deigning to look at her. "I found that particular comment actually resembled the form of Dumbledore's pen."

He knew that she was squinting, her beady eyes intensely examining the print.

She surprised him. "Well, in that case, it should be no skin off your teeth if I use the new ink-removal spell I've developed," the woman retorted. Severus, irritated at the comment, turned back to her with a sneer.

"It's an annotation that prevents the spread of misinformation," he protested in a low, hissing tone. "The truth should take precedence over your obsession for tidiness."

"The pristine state of this book has been marred," she replied crisply, adjusting her glasses with the prim decorum of a nun. "As a librarian, it is my duty to renew it. Other people read books, you know, and deserve to have the same quality of experience as you did. If you care so greatly about preserving your 'truth', I recommend that you publish your own annotated version. Then, when others scribble in the margins of _your_ work, I will uphold the favor, the same as I do for all other published works."

That was her philosophy. She would not move from it, and Severus knew that. However, he jabbed one last thrust at her argument, however futile.

"But if you mean to give 'the same quality of experience' as myself to others, then that necessarily entails that they are as educated about the craft as I am. Since they are not, in order to _provide_ such a reading, I educate the public by bestowing some small grain of my own knowledge in a convenient spot. You should be thanking me, Irma."

With that, he stalked from the library, not noticing that the librarian's expression changed as soon as his back was turned.

"You got him riled, my dear," Irma congratulated herself aloud, the hint of a smile on her thin lips. "Enough so that he forgot to check out anything more. He'll be back before tomorrow."

So saying, she sighed, brushed some wrinkles from the front of her shirt, and re-crossed her legs

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .


	3. Ariana Dumbledore

_Disclaimer: I'm not Just Kidding when I say that I'm not J.K. (Rowling). _

**Lovely Ladies  
**

Femme Fatale Number Three: Ariana Dumbledore

"I don't understand your cause for fuss, Severus."

In tireless attendance of the ceiling's activities, Snape's pupils budged from their duties only to regard Dumbledore with scorn.

"Sir," the Potions master addressed his superior. "In the past month, you have summoned me to your office no less than forty times—mostly for trivial matters. Now you ask me if I... _fondle_ myself?"

Snape's eyes loftily swooped down to meet Dumbledore's like a hawk upon its prey. "I've been patient, Headmaster—excessively so. But not now. Not where my personal propriety is in question. I'm appalled and insulted."

So saying, he stood, thrusting back his shoulders.

"Don't bother calling me again this week unless it's on official business. Furthermore, if you are displeased with my work, please say so outright. I do _not_ like to play your little games." He followed this by a haughty sniff, and he stalked proudly out of the room.

"I presume that's a 'yes' to your question, my dear," Albus said, directing his grin towards Ariana Dumbledore's portrait on the nearest shelf.

"I actually disagree, as usual," the young lady said, a grimace on her painted face. Even though she had died a trifle on the younger side, her artist had obliged Albus and crafted a slightly older version of herself, appearing twenty years of age. For the past thirty years, she had sat on Albus' office shelf, prim, poised, and pretty, but also his favorite critic.

She continued, "He didn't look embarrassed or turn red like he does when he talks about Lily Evans. Lily Evans!" Ariana's ladylike lips pouted. "That little vixen."

"But he got quite defensive," countered Albus good-naturedly. This was an argument he was not fully engaged in, for he was opening a new bag of lemon-drops.

"You of all people can never understand. He's prudish. It's incredibly endearing; chastity comes naturally to him. He's puritan; he tries so hard to be free of lust—he wants to be _clean_, Albus."

Her brother chuckled. "He is no knight in shining armor, my dear."

"Far from it; I've seen him at his worst, same as you! And remember, there was that vase he hurled that broke my frame once. He hasn't nearly killed _you_ yet, has he?"

"And yet you love him, indiscriminately," Albus replied gently, sucking on a clump of three lemon drops thoughtfully. "I do wonder if that's all that's kept him alive so long. His love for Lily may never die, true, but to be loved—there's no better protection."

"So," the young woman said, changing the subject before her brother could wax philosophical, "when do you suppose we could lure him back again? It must be soon. I would hate to learn that my poor little Severus was left alone to his own melancholy."

"Oh, soon enough, I expect." With that, Albus cheerfully began to shuffle through his papers. "What sort of proper excuse can we trump up?"

. . . x . . .

A/N: What sorts of excuses did Albus use? Oh, nothing much. Just a) for Severus to read an article on eating aphrodisiacs and give his thoughts on it, b) to judge on strawberries versus passion-fruits, twigs versus hourglasses, and lace versus silk, and c) once to ask if Sev liked chocolate or roses better, and which he, as a 'man of limited perspective', would give to a lady. I wonder what Sev thinks now!

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .


	4. Arabella Figg

_Disclaimer: I'm not Just Kidding when I say that I'm not J.K. (Rowling). _

_A.N.: Yes, these stories are all set before Harry comes to Hogwarts. No, it doesn't particularly matter what order they're in, though this one would probably be earlier, since Frank Longbottom makes an appearance. Oh, and I guess I mis-spoke about this being a drabble series. Argh. Oh well. It's a ficlet series._

**Lovely Ladies  
**

Femme Fatale Number Four: Arabella Figg

Order of the Phoenix meetings never addressed anything pertinent to Snape, so he mostly sat alone in a corner and steadily gazed at whomever held the floor. One evening, however, a lady with graying tresses joined him.

She and Severus sat in complacent silence for some time, and he rather forgot she was there. In the middle of a particularly boring sentiment by Frank Longbottom ('the goody-two-shoes' in Snape's mind), the woman roused Severus' attention.

"I wish that young man in tweed would stop his fidgeting," she dryly commented, curling her lip and nodding at Arthur Weasley.

Snape did not reply, but for the next ten minutes, he paid attention to the smiling ginger-head and decided her assessment was apt. Weasley's foot-tapping was starting to drive him insane, too.

The meeting ambled along, paced as fast as a boy digging a hole to China with a spoon.

"I honestly don't know why I'm here," the woman spat suddenly, clearly disgruntled. "I had to put off all of my laundry until tomorrow to be here. And now I'm not even part of all this. Albus can be such a nuisance, sometimes."

_Agreed,_ Snape silently applauded, then attempted to pay attention to the proceedings.

Auror Moody and Gideon Prewett began a riled discussion, Moody invoking his stubborn 'constant vigilance' clause more often than reasonable.

"That one's an arse," decided Severus' companion. "It's not our fault he's a blithering idiot. Someone, kick him out before our ears begin to bleed. "

Rather shocked, Severus cast a sly glance at her—who was she? Her chipped glass-pearl necklace, sensible shoes, and plaid wool skirt (adorned with cat hairs) gave him little clue.

The meeting concluded, and the woman rose.

"I never caught your name," she said, with a prim dip of the head.

"I never caught yours," he replied, aloof.

"Arabella Figg." She extended her hand, and he took it.

"Severus Snape." He drew his fingers away from her blotchy painted nails.

"You seem interesting," the woman said, unfolding a pair of glasses from her pocketbook. "I must rush off, but I'd like to talk to you more. Would you like to come to tea sometime soon? I make fine chocolate biscuits."

The invitation was sudden, but Severus rarely received invitations of any sort. So, he conceded, "Perhaps."

"Good," the woman said. "I'm writing a novel, you see," she explained, "and I do believe you might make a fine model for my protagonist. Tall, dark, handsome...you know the sort." With this, she raised an eyebrow at him and pursed her lips.

Snape's stomach knotted with incredulity and embarrassment. _What?!_

"Arabella!" came a voice from behind them, and Severus had never been happier to see Dumbledore. Slinking away as soon as the strange woman turned, Snape mused that the headmaster did have the _oddest_ friends.

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .


	5. Mrs Norris

_Disclaimer: I'm not Just Kidding when I say that I'm not J.K. (Rowling). _

**Lovely Ladies  
**

Mrs. Norris

Snape stalked between the tables, seething at being _once again _handed the mundane job of babysitting the students during Study Hall in the Great Hall.

_Minerva'll pay richly for this hour_, he thought grimly, _I've got much more important things to do than this._

Ten minutes after the half-past bell chimed, there was a shout from outside the Great Hall, and everyone looked up to see what was the matter.

"Damn cat!"

This was followed immediately by fervent supplication, "Oh, please my dear, I didn't mean it! Honest to Merlin, I didn't..."

A panic-stricken Argus Filch soon rushed into the Great Hall, preceded by the scampering Mrs. Norris. She was far more agile than him, as was her way (being a cat), and she leaped up on tables, darted between students and inkwells and notebooks, and finally made one great leap onto the enormous wall-tapestry and scaled it.

Filch was soon at the base of the tapestry, but his darling was already at the top, holding steady and hissing.

Everyone in the Great Hall laughed, save Snape. He didn't see it as funny, but rather tragic.

_Reminds me of a certain someone who said a certain thing that made another certain someone loathe the previous someone, _he told himself obliquely, banishing thoughts of Lily from his mind.

At this point, Filch became frustrated and left the room, probably to get a ladder or some other tool.

To save the squib more trouble, Snape went over to the tapestry and gently pried the cat off the fabric with a detachment spell, setting her down at his feet.

She, in response, began to twist himself around and between his legs affectionately, purring.

As he heard tittering from the students, Snape glared at a few choice victims and stalked back to the front of the room, arms crossed over one another. Mrs. Norris followed, to his annoyance, but she very quietly sat down next to him, and because she wasn't a disturbance, he let her stay.

After study hall ended, Filch returned to the Great Hall, an expanding scaffold in tow, but he was pleased to see that Snape had brought down his kitty. Until, that is, the aforementioned feline darted away from him, hissing in revulsion.

Not wanting to deal with the pair more than necessary, Severus left.

Over the rest of the day, Severus was vaguely aware of a presence near him. As he left his class, he felt there was something following him. At dinner, he felt the whiskings of a long tail near his legs. Finally, when he got to his rooms for the night, she was waiting for him in front of his door, and she meowed for attention.

"Damn cat," he thoughtlessly muttered as soon as he saw her.

Her eyes widening in fear, she bolted.

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

**Please review!  
**


	6. Aurora Sinistra, Astronomy

_Disclaimer: I'm not Just Kidding when I say that I'm not J.K. (Rowling). _

**Lovely Ladies  
**

Femme Fatale Number Six: Aurora Sinistra, Astronomy

Snape was irritated by the hardness of the warm French bread on his plate. Far from being crisp on the outside and chewy on the inside, the pitiful specimen on his plate was nothing short of stale.

_Reheated, no doubt, by those lazy elves, who insist on buying in bulk and freeze the excess for later._

He slathered it in hazelnut spread.

_If a man of MY temperament reigned in the kitchens, this would not happen._

At that moment, the unfortunate creature who sat beside him, Aurora Sinistra, startled him.

"Having a good breakfast?" she asked, sounding altogether too chipper for someone whose job it was to stay up all night regarding the stars.

He made a noncommittal noise.

"I'm so glad."

_What on earth? _Snape wondered. The woman rarely spoke to anyone, much less him, and, come to think of it, she never came to breakfast, either.

"When's your first class?" she asked, and Snape realized her voice was very low.

"Eight," he fibbed. His first period started at ten; contrary to popular conception, he liked to grade papers in the morning.

"It's almost seven now. I know it's a _bit _early, but would you come with me after breakfast?"

"Why?" he asked, and then immediately regretted it. She leaned over to whisper in his ear, filling his nostrils with the powerful perfume of dew and orchids.

"I've been having _fantasies _about you since you joined staff," she breathed, and Snape felt his body turn rigid. "I've decided I want to start living them out, now that I'm newly single. Will you come?" she reiterated, pulling back a little. "It will be _very_ quick."

He opened his mouth. Some men would have been ecstatic by such an invitation, but Severus was purely shocked. As he looked at the woman who addressed him, her large blue eyes meeting his, nausea rose in his esophagus.

_Lily. Think of Lily. _

"No. Thank you," he choked, not sure what to say in this bizarre situation, "but really, no thank you."

She appeared beyond put-out by his adamant denial, her shoulders sinking substantially and her eyes turning glassy.

"Oh. Okay. I'm sorry," she flustered, turning a deep red. "I could have sworn-"

"-No. I'm flattered, truly, but no."

_Fantasies? About me? _

The idea was so strange and horrible that he felt truly sick.

_Someone's been watching me and I haven't even noticed. What kind of spy am I?_

Standing up, he realized that this occasion must have been planned. The tops of two firm breasts poked from a daring blouse, her skirt was tight and accentuated an hourglass figure, and her skirt lacked panty lines, suggesting—to Snape's horror—nothing there. She appeared uncomfortable now, having been proven a fool by the object of her affections, and she seemed helpless without her usual businesslike tweed.

His survey of her, however, was misinterpreted; she stood up, thinking that he had changed his mind, and he waved her back.

"Finish your breakfast, then _change your clothes_, Professor," he said carefully, stalking away and shaking his head.

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .


End file.
